Why Aren't I Home?
by commodore17
Summary: Halt and Will investigate the reformation of The Outsiders as the cult ravages the eastern front of Hibernia once more. Follow the dynamic duo as they bring along a newcomer into their ever-present testament of strength and will. Set 5 years post-canon. A longfic/novel.
1. All is Well in The Life of a Ranger

Why Aren't I Home?

Summary:

Halt and Will investigate the reformation of The Outsiders as the cult ravages the eastern front of Hibernia once more. Follow the dynamic duo as they bring along a newcomer into their ever-present testament of strength and will. Set 5 years post-canon. A longfic/novel.

Disclaimer:

Don't take credit for Flanny's work. Ranger's Apprentice and everything in it is rightfully his (sadly).

Preface

(**PLEASE READ)**

The beginning of this story is a bit more insight on the 'newcomer' featured in this novel. But I can assure you, the original character is purely a deuteragonist, meaning that he/she plays an important role in accordance to the protagonist and is a main character, but isn't the sole purpose of the story.

This story is a longer fiction, and is set 5 years after the events of 'Halt's Peril'

I hope this clears everything up - if there are questions, feel free to inbox me

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter One:

All is Well in The Life of a Ranger

* * *

In the immediate days following the ordeal in Hibernia, personal solitude seemed to be something of the past for a certain Ranger. Countless questions arose involving just about everything there was to be asked about, from the extent of the injury to a missed shot to simply "The king was your brother?" There were banquets and ceremonies to be had, of course; a facet of King Duncan's 'protocol' that was welcomed by less than welcoming arms. If there had been one sharp contrast between the efforts of Rodney's battleschool and those of the Ranger Corps, it was that protocol and chivalry was heavily emphasized in one of them. As for the other: Is there a single degree of chivalry in throwing people into moats?

In hindsight, a lot of it was a meaningless crave of information and mock empathy. The inhabitants of even a 'protocol' ridden castle are still human beneath precedents and the daily routine. Condolences were given, wishing of good health and an even greater fortune, not to mention the occasional fruit basket given by the self described rogue who compares his life's work to that of a vigilante, therefore a qualification to claim that he's been through twice as much. Nothing like self-delusion to get through the drudgeries of life.

But at the end of the day, the grizzled Ranger realized, those who's sympathy and condolences were beyond the truancy of the daily racket chose not to say it with the rest, but rather at the downtime that follows, and directly to him. And those people, in turn, were the ones who really cared for his well-being. Hell, maybe even his fortune.

Time and disinterest neutralizes a lot of things, including the incandescent buzz that had consumed the fief of Redmont. As the days passed, everything dissolved into the struggle of daily life and work, as they always do, catalyzed by the Ranger's half-hearted and vague replies to futile attempts of probing information out of him. Like a carefully selected number of forty nine others, discreetness was truly the way to go if one wants no loose ends. Therefore speaking, the accumulation of these answers, with the slightest hint of annoyance, could truly neutralize a lot of things.

Despite the seemingly cynical thoughts that encompassed the Ranger, no wrong doing has actually been done since his return to Castle Redmont, more specifically his lofty apartment in the mammoth structure's west corridor. As far as he was concerned, life was pretty good. His wonderful soul-mate did tons more than keep company. Following Pauline, his close knit group of friends provided an extra push to his moral support; contrary to popular belief, him being the primary source of advice for younger Rangers was something that sat very will within the senior Ranger's intuition.

But most of all, there was Will. Just the sheer fact that his former apprentice was alright provided an encumbering relief for Halt. Now close to a decade ago, the grizzled Ranger had agreed to another five years of training a Ranger; a five years that had its fair share of ups and downs. But overall, Will had been the pinnacle of the older Ranger's career. Although appearing cold and disinterested, Halt was extremely proud of Will's accomplishments, and even prouder of the youth's progression as a person. The adoptive father to son-like relationship was of no surprise to the common talk of Araluen, hence its commonization. However, if there was one thing he knew for a fact, it was that there was no way in hell he would have another apprentice.

Perhaps he shouldn't be so hell-bent.

It was his wife who broke the progression of his thoughts. "Halt, maybe you should take a break."

Halt looked up from the lengthy report, obviously reading none of it for the last ten minutes. "Maybe I should." He added in a nonchalant tone. "I wasn't even reading it"

Pauline replaced the now watered vase of flowers on the window ledge adjacent to a desk used for official work. Afterward, she sat beside her husband fully knowing that something wasn't right. "What's wrong, dear?"

Failing to reassure his wife, the grizzled Ranger answered hurriedly, a characteristic in him that screamed error. "Nothing."

But Pauline knew the look. It was the face of a man who was settled and content, but with no clue as to what he would do next; the face of a man who, in this case, was a little _too_ settled. In other words, Halt was utterly bored.

"You're bored, aren't you?"

"What?"

Pauline was by no means oblivious to this. In fact, Halt's boredom has been increasing synonymously with the decrease of the popularity of the haphazard events in Hibernia. She was, however, completely clueless on how to remedy this. The diplomat had an idea, one of the subconscious sort; the type that is always met by the question as to why it was thought. But it seemed futile – that is, unless her talent of persuasion was used. She would save it for now, she concluded.

As for Halt, the Ranger knew Pauline's look of all knowing. He knew that she nailed it on the head right then and there. Now, there was no use in pretending not to comprehend her claim.

The Ranger sighed, resting the official report on his lap – Crowley's information would have to wait. He lied. "I have no idea what to do." Halt had an idea, but wasn't sure how to approach it. Besides, it seemed inconvenient at this point in time.

Pauline shrugged. "Why don't you see what Will is up to?"

A hint of a smile broke across Halt's lips as he answered. "He's here, with _your _apprentice."

"_Former_ apprentice, Halt. She graduated."

Halt reiterated in a gruff tone. "Whatever. You can never keep track of them anyway."

Pauline smiled as her husband's mock exasperation. She knew that Halt was on very good terms with Alyss, the diplomat's former apprentice. She also had the vague notion that she and Halt were thinking alike on something. What it was, however, was beyond her knowledge. As a diplomat though, she was entitled to have an idea.

"Crowley's here for the next few days; surely you two could come up with something." Pauline suddenly felt like she was dealing with an adolescent child, a feeling that wasn't entirely new to her. She sensed a small bit irony in telling Will: "he isn't getting any younger."

Even worse, she felt like she and Halt were nearing closer to the idea that was mutually held. Adding fuel to the fire, she knew exactly what that was now. Meanwhile, Halt shrugged in defeat. Picking up the report once more, he couldn't help but to acknowledge the fact that Pauline was avoiding something. He had a strong notion that it was exactly what Halt had been keeping from her. But as long as it went unsaid, Halt, in turn, would say nothing about it.

The subject of Crowley's letter read: "Top Prospects". Halt cursed silently to himself.

As the popularity of the Ranger Corps grew thanks to the efforts of Halt and Will, so did the air of suspicion the close knit group had on the people of Araluen. They weren't sure what Rangers did, and all they knew was that their work was effective, and it involved a bow. Crowley used this opportunity to seek possible talents, as the interest trickled down to the adolescent generation of the country. Of course, because the sandy haired Ranger couldn't visit all fifty fiefs while keeping up with his duties as commandant, he relied on the word of other Rangers regarding prospects in fiefs far from Araluen. And now, Halt's comrade was in Redmont.

The Ranger read the briefing introduction, incoherently fingering his beard as he did so:

_Welcome, Rangers_

_It is of my pleasure to bring you the annual 'Top Prospect' listings. In this, you will find fifty of the country's potential talents, as well as their assets and weaknesses. You will also find the Ranger who assessed each subject. Each subject is ranked according to skill level. Dashes between fiefs indicate subject availability for more than one fief. If you happen to be interested in anyone on this list, send a notification to me, or speak to me directly, if the location ensues._

Halt paused before reading on. He had to think: he was becoming awfully interested in this listing. Could he possibly be thinking – no, it seemed too foolish. Just a general interest, that's all. He read on, beginning with the very first subject.

_1.) Andrew Shields_

_Location: Redmont – Araluen_

Halt sighed. "Of course," he said aloud. Upon closer inspection however, his last name seemed familiar. This young man's older brother Clarke was enlisted in the Ranger Corps quite sometime ago, around a year or two before Will was taken under the grizzled Ranger's wing. Halt remembered now: Clarke had been quite the talk of the upper fiefs' Rangers during the gathering at the time. He read on.

_Age: 15_

_Height: 1.8 m _

_Weight: 72.5 kg_

_Assets:_

_-Excellent speed_

_-Strong wit_

_-Smooth, clean shot_

_-Spot On Accuracy_

_Weaknesses: _

_-Projectable stature_

_-Injury trouble_

_Assessment: Crowley Meratyn_

_-Drew is a can't-miss prospect. The younger brother of Clarke Shields, Ranger no. 46, Drew has a predictable frame. This subject possesses an above average shot and a quick wit with Next-level accuracy and athletic movements that equal some third-year apprentices. However, injury troubles and family issues surround the subject, as well as lofty expectations._

Halt dialed in on 'family issues' and 'lofty expectations'. He could see one side of the issue, as Clarke had been highly revered on his smooth and athletic movements as well as his deadly accuracy. A relative of such hype was doomed for high expectations. Clarke was bigger in height and stature, however, therefore causing unseen movement to be an issue in the early years of his apprenticeship. Looking the height column for Andrew, he seems to be taking after his older brother. It could easily be fixed, Halt knew, as Gilan nearly equaled Horace in size. As for family issues: he was utterly clueless.

_Likelihood of Enlistment: 10 – 10_

The Ranger peered over at Pauline who sat beside him, her facial expression locked in thought. "Pauline, who is this Andrew Shields character?"

The diplomat snapped out of her trance. A couple seconds were taken to recover from the magnitude of self thought. Afterward, she answered Halt's inquiry.

"Oh, Drew? I see him around the castle sometimes. He's Lady Alexandra's son; Crowley's nephew," She answered. Seeing Halt's eyes locked on the paper that he held before him, she decided to add an inquiry of her own. "Why?"

Without warning, The Ranger rose from his seat, heading toward the small closet that where his cloak lay uninhabited. Folding the report into a travel-size half, he threw on his cloak, working out the areas that appeared wrinkled. Before Pauline could ask, Halt had an answer formulated.

"I'll be right back," he said, and like all Rangers, slipped quietly out of the room.

Pauline was baffled as to why he left so abruptly. She rose from her seat, motioned over to where three or so pages lay in Halt's previous position and retrieved them, which instantly eroded the document's exclusiveness. After reading the heading, she smiled to herself while shaking her head. It was the second thing she guessed correctly on that evening. Suddenly, the feeling that she was looking after an adolescent being returned. Only this time, she welcomed it with laughter.

Rangers were such a mysterious group.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Please excuse any remaining grammatical or spelling errors that are in this chapter.

Review if you want too; I welcome constructive criticism as well as your thoughts on the story so far.


	2. Compendium

Chapter Two:

Compendium

* * *

"I have to say Halt, this is a little unexpected." 'Unexpected' was a severe understatement, the sandy haired commandant concluded. But in situations like these, it was best to keep the magnitude of the situation at a reasonable level, even if the revelation is as bizarre as it was.

"I never said I wanted another one," Halt reassured. "I only want to see if this assessment is true."

Crowley's face fixed itself into that of an expression that hinted at disbelief, with a dash of humor. He decided it would be best if he chewed the fat with his longtime friend a little while longer before coming to a resolution. And if a resolution to _this_ was reached, then the commandant would be one hell of a negotiator.

"I wrote it Halt," Crowley began. "I think I'd be able to determine the validity in my work." He quieted for a few moments. A question suddenly rising from his thoughts, he capitalized on his claim. "Besides, when have you ever cared about something like this?"

Halt had arrived at Crowley's temporary apartment shortly after he departed from his own. Halt remarked while walking into the spacious abode that the shutters that were placed in accordance to the massive view were wide open, giving the room a blast of vitality. Outside, the summer breeze perfectly accommodated the clear sky, blue as the small body of water that was distant but viewable from a high altitude. In small silhouettes, the bearded Ranger could make out the serene village of Wensely, and to the immediate left lay the revered battleschool, among the best in the entire country. Otherwise, the Ranger would make a causal remark to the unquestionably amendable conditions; most Saturdays consisted of a general leisure among inhabitants of Redmont, although a select group would find themselves unconsciously exerting themselves against their will. And Halt's admission to that group was something that he was less than proud about.

The grizzled Ranger squinted his eyes at the commandant, appearing offended at the question. But not only was Halt unscathed by the beratement, he realized that Crowley was absolutely right. After Will had graduated, the senior Ranger had made a practice out disregarding any notifications regarding apprentices and potential apprentices. But the graybeard had a sharp wit, and he retaliated with an inquiry of his own. Never underestimate the power of a rhetorical question, as they can prove to be almost inequitable at times.

"When was the last time the top prospect was from Redmont?"

Questions of the sort can also be quite the gamble.

"When was the last time you looked?"

Halt sighed deeply. He had known the strawberry-blond Ranger since their youthful adulthood an indefinite umpteen years ago. Over time, Crowley had grown to learn Halt's tricks and sneaky maneuvers, and vice-versa. A revelation that the bearded Ranger could only associate with a select number of people, there was no fooling this person. The next round of the conversational wrestle was reason.

"Crowley," Halt's tone of voice exuded exasperation. "Just tell me what your nephew is like."

All kidding aside for the moment, Crowley decided to appease Halt. A resolution to this was unforeseeable at the moment. He sat up from the slouched position he had assumed on an armchair for quite some time.

"Halt, in all honesty," he began. "We cannot pass up on this kid. He's taking after Clarke in almost every way possible. He's already expressed his interest in the Corps; now we have to snag him. There's one thing, however."

Halt leaned closer in his seat. Albeit incoherently, he also raised an eyebrow at Crowley's cliffhanger. "And what is that?"

Crowley swallowed before replying. This was the crux of the matter. "His father won't approve of this. We're taking the poor man's only son left."

The grizzled Ranger nodded his head in understanding. Sir George was distinguished at swordplay, and had been a popular figure throughout Caraway fief, his name being the topic of a hearty amount of conversation even throughout the country. Halt could remember when Clarke was first apprenticed, the knight was less than content with the enlistment, as it ruined the cliché 'family' tradition. Now that the next one down was also gaining attention from Crowley's Ranger Corps, The man would be practically hell-bent on resisting the enlistment of his last son.

A strange impulse caused the sandy haired commandant to speak in a lower voice. It surely wasn't paranoia, but rather a gesture to signal the rising seriousness in his next words. "That is why I need to know if you're serious about mentoring a third apprentice."

Seeing Halt's comprehension of the claim, Crowley continued. "Drew is my nephew. If I were to go to George _once more_, -"

This time it was Halt who finished. "He would see it as selfish greed."

Crowley nodded emphatically. "Exactly. But if you were to make the request, the offer's credibility would nearly triple." Now he reiterated, driving his point home. "Halt, I need to know if you are actually serious about doing this."

As humor exited the now stoic conversation, Halt took a few minutes to simply think. Would he be able to mentor another apprentice? His adamant refusal had been set and stone until now, and Crowley seemed extremely sure about this kid, to the point of possible excitement. How would Pauline react to this news? Even worse, where would Will stay during the potential Ranger's tenure?

Halt sighed. "Crowley, if you can make this work, I'm not opposed to it."

A healthy grin spread across Crowley's face. He knew that the bearded Ranger's statement was as close to an agreement as he would receive. And any complete cooperation from Halt, he figured, was worth taking.

The blond haired man leaped out of his seat. Halt was sure he hadn't seen Crowley react that fast in ages. "Great!" He exclaimed.

"However there is one thing." Halt seared through Crowley's excitement. So much for _complete_ cooperation, the sandy haired Ranger thought. Halt continued.

"I don't think we'll be able to go to George about this directly," he began. "If the man had been that torn when Clarke was enlisted, don't you think that he would've developed a rather strong disliking for the entire organization by now?"

Crowley looked at Halt quizzically. "What do you mean?" He asked. The total number of unexpected claims from Halt was far beyond the daily dosage. It was most likely a result of his extended time indoors, he concluded.

"I mean that if we were to go to George right away, he wouldn't hesitate to disagree." Halt explained. "In order to get this Andrew character into the Corps, we'll have to hear it, formally, from him first. And that's where you come in."

Crowley had risen from his seat during Halt's explanation. Helping himself to a daily remedy of a bitter sort, a countertop now held the burden of the Ranger's lean-weight. Now interested in what his visitor had to say next, he decided to probe Halt's mind even further, although he had an idea of where the situation was heading.

"So, what do you suppose we do?" he interrogated before taking a sip of coffee.

Halt smiled bleakly. Appeasement almost always ends in a particular chasm between the two sides. In this case, it resulted in a temporarily heightened ego. "Are you asking for my opinion? I have to say Crowley, this is a little _unexpected_."

Crowley, although the sarcasm was meant to be taken as petty, became more than a little irritated at Halt's humor. In fact, Halt's humor itself could be very irritating at times, for it's 'convenience' to the grizzled Ranger could prove to cause quite the annoyance on the receiving end. Squinting his eyes in indubitable irritation, he retaliated, fighting fire with fire.

"You're a very funny man Halt." He pressed on. "In fact, you could become quite the jongleur with that type of _entertainment._ All you need is that damned lute of your apprentice's." Closing the vent of trivial anger, he carried on. "Anyway, what have you got in mind?"

"_Former _apprentice, Crowley. He graduated. Surely a man of your qualifications would know that."

Crowley shook his head, the gesture of disapprobation was matched with an antagonizing look. He chose to ignore Halt's claim. "What have you got -"

"And if I'm not mistaken, the instrument is referred to as a mandola."

Now bowing his head, the sandy haired commandant fingered his eyes using his thumb and forefinger, the move becoming more of a willful face-palm as his hand traveled down the length of his face. The nerve of this man was truly admirable. In a qualm like this, it was best to ignore the opponent's advances, even if they were a nagging pain in the rear. Appeasement is truly one of the worst forms of compromise, he concluded.

"What have you got in mind, _Halt_?" He ended with a peculiar tone, one that flashed suppressed rage in efforts that the perpetrator would subside alongside his endeavor.

Halt, satisfied with his moment of justice, continued with his hypothesis. "You're the boy's uncle, so I wouldn't be surprised if a topic such as this was discussed in the past. Only this time, lay it on a bit harder. Persuade him subtly, and see how he reacts."

Crowley nodded approval of the idea. It seemed subtle enough. If Andrew were to formally commit to the Ranger Corps, that itself would be proof for Sir George. And proof, if used correctly, was a guaranteed victory for he and Halt.

"Okay," he agreed. Considering his next words, he smiled at the incoherent sarcasm that laced them. "On one condition."

Halt raised an eyebrow. The number of verbal clauses in this agreement could be astounding to any lawyer. His tone showing a hint of exasperation, he questioned the other Ranger."

"What?"

"You have to join me."

Validating Crowley's absurdity rather than incomprehension, Halt repeated himself. "What?"

"You have to join me." Crowley elaborated, raising one hand in reason. "Suppose I did as you requested, exactly how you requested it." the Ranger continued. "I would talk to him, persuade him and all, then say: 'I forgot to tell you: if you, in fact, are interested, I wouldn't be your mentor.' How would that come off?"

"Okay," Halt began, "Suppose I do join you. What relevance will I have at this point in time?"

Instantly, Crowley's face rearranged itself into that of a wolfish smile. It was the perfect inlet. "Are you asking for my opinion?" Here came the bruiser. "I have to say Halt, this-"

"Shut up." The bearded Ranger put it as plainly as the conversation allowed.

Crowley smiled gleefully, albeit spirits a little broken at the seemingly trivial neutralization. "You'll be there as – well, protocol. I'll be there to ease the tensions of an initial introduction." He concluded at a copious length.

"Fine," said Halt, and the banter came to a hiatus. Halt realized that through this conversation, he had inadvertently agreed to another five years of training an apprentice. Seeing the thorns rather than the rose, His mind began to focus on the hardships of his previous tenures as a mentor to both Gilan and Will. From the Skandian ordeal to the recent escapade to Hibernia, Halt began to question his security skills as a craftmaster.

After an intermission in which both Rangers carefully assessed their thoughts, Crowley found himself motioning his head in a way that indicated a reflection of the previous endeavor, and the reflection brought forth a wave of mock disbelief. He decided to speak on behalf of it.

"Halt, I still can't seem to believe that you're doing this," he claimed, breaking the silence and monotony that had grown like crabgrass in contrast to the lengthy conversation.

"Then believe it," Halt answered artlessly. At the end of his thought flight, he analyzed the end result of every five years in which a trainee was taught the crafts of a Ranger. Will and Gilan had both matured into very respectable young Rangers, with skills far beyond their years. He remembered the graduation initiation of both of his pupils. And that, to him, brought a warm feeling; a feeling of accomplishment and positive influence not only to the student, but to the teacher as well. Now up to Andrew, if the youth were to agree as a part of Halt and Crowley's master plan, Halt would be in for another five years of adventure and tumultuous livelihood, which in every Ranger's eyes, was the Ranger way. Encumbered by that feeling of positive anticipation, Halt now felt oddly content with the conclusion. And so did Crowley; he had now reached an all time high in his negotiating ability; The irresistible feeling of an increasing ego is always a guilty pleasure.

But with composure comes the storm.


	3. Blue Sky Noise

Author's Note (Please Read!)

First off, I apologize for the wait. As soon as school let out for the summer, I was bombarded by my summer baseball schedule; I usually only have a day to devote time to FanFiction as I'm busy Fridays through the following Wednesday. Needless to say, the speed of my updates will now depend on the reviews received regarding this work.

Furthermore, I'd like to take the time to formally ask what you guys think of this work so far. I'm putting a decent amount of time into this, so I'm eager to see that everyone thinks. As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Additionally, those who would like updates/sneak peaks at the next chapter are free to PM me. This chapter was cut in half since the original document was a little more than five thousand words, so the fourth should be up relatively fast.

Thanks!

-commodore17

* * *

Chapter Three

Blue Sky Noise

* * *

The strategical positioning of Redmont can truly be credited to a geographical genius. From its scarlet mountain-scape to its man made shelters, the fief was a competitor even to castle Araluen in terms of beauty. A fierce competitor to the late Gorlan as well, the fact was left unsaid, as the demise of such a once glorious and prosperous fief was still among many of the sore subjects that stirred underneath legit and pseudo-happiness. Still, the inhabitants of such a low-key yet luxurious fief owe an incoherent thanks to the man who's taste in scenery was well above average.

Sundays in Redmont were an unofficial, weekly holiday. Points go to anyone who finds a single working soul besides the king on this day. Butchers and smiths alike, Sunday involves a whole lot of nothing, consisting of sitting around voluntarily, waiting for the last-minute customers. Beware the earlybirds, as their anticipation of the next week during a leisurely day casted a spell of anticipated exhaustion and a little irritation among every other 'go with the flow' Redmont dweller. But the only rule of the day, implied as a greeting, was simply to "live and let live."

Coming in from the High Road, new and returning travelers alike would sense the enormous feeling of comfort and warmth that encumbered the fief. Perhaps it was the forestry lining the road entering Redmont; the chlorophyll lacking leaves atop the countless oaks provided that beloved feeling of wilderness, all while carrying the strong notion that an entire fief lay beyond mother nature's fine work.

If one's reason ensues, the fief's butcher is a preliminary guide for anyone entering the residence. Here, the ground rules are explained in a casual manner, a little bias in favor of the fief itself and its inhabitants. Because of the butcher's implied and prejudged brutality, this was a good time to explain the street-ratified law and peacekeeping measures, the ramifications often times eclipsing said law. After the traveler had enough, his or her speed of pace upon exiting the workplace depended on the amount of inflicted intimidation, and was always faster than the initial walk-in. The desperate urge to leave was then accelerated by the ironic "How may I help you?" upon the pendulum swinging of the door.

Next was the Silversmith. Filled with sharp weaponry and other defense tactics, the sizable shop was not so much a haven for anyone coming from the butcher. Albeit less direct on law enforcement, the smith was clever, and would incorporate it into daily salesman-to-customer conversation. Any wise, sarcastic, or threatening comments were strongly discouraged by one's self intuition, as the salesman himself appeared cultured with such fine tools. From here, it was a short walk to the village of Wensley was well as the tavern if one were to stray to the left – Anywhere but here, a traveler would figure.

The village of Wensley was a quiet, jovial community of a typical sort. The days and nights passed without much unusual hassle. The town's rumor mill was the source of many farfetched stories that were still widely present within the other regions of the fief. Recent masterpieces include Halt's single-handed neutralization of the Outsiders, which was headlined by the Ranger's staggering height and strength. Contributing roles were Will's commanding of an entire Skandian army, and the killing of two Kalkara when the Ranger was younger. Truthfully, whatever could get the village through each and every day was deemed worthy of the common talk.

Other talk included the swankiness of a particular restaurant, one that was owned by a graduate of Master Chubb's breakneck cooking regime. A top pupil as well, Jennifer Dalby was bound to attract attention to her public cooking. Instantly a hot spot, Jenny's restaurant became a place of not only formal dining, but for the usual stop-and-go dining that was the normal for the younger population. Youth and company would visit, and because of Jenny's relative youth herself, a connection of relative morals and interests blanketed the scene.

But on Sundays, the usual activity, if any, is done in the market square: a lengthy strip of vendors and merchants eagerly awaiting a victim for their selling tactics. From food to accessories, this strip of Redmont was an around the clock business, therefore hosting many of the fief's impromptu social gatherings with most of them being a constant struggle regarding masculinity and who carried the fancier wit.

"Hullo Drew; need anything?"

The virtue of a smaller merchant was that he could keep tabs on individual customers, and develop a comfortable friendship with them, courtesy of the common interest. Such friendships and good feelings for this vendor involved Rangers and the bow-wielding.

A brand new bow was placed onto the table used for displaying eye-catching merchandise. A young man wielded the weapon, resting the woodwork without haste or worry.

"I need a quick polish, and maybe a fletching jig." Drew answered.

"Well then, let's see," said the vendor, examining the bow with careful hands. Upon inspection, he realized that the quality of the recurve was represented by its perfect craft and shape. Testing the draw weight ever so slightly, the crisp bend of the structure indeed verified its advanced quality and value.

"She's a beauty," He began. He regarded the young man whom was no older than sixteen. The merchant was familiar with the youthful face; one that had began the 'coming of age' process not too long ago. An unorthodox site, the kid's eyes possessed a certain type of iridium within the central pupil. For the most part, they were green. But around the iris was a light golden lining which gave the entirety a comfortable offset.

"I see Clarke has you shooting with these tree trunks," He concluded, chewing the fat a little.

Drew reached down for a weathered and chronically used coin purse, hiding a smile. The bow was shaped into that of a typical recurve fashion. But the overall size of the wooden structure was bigger than that of one, aiming to maximizing total firing distance. Clarke, his older brother, had used one similar due to his bigger stature; the Ranger was significantly taller than the average Ranger, as well as the average height in general. Normally the switch between a recurve bow and a traditional longbow usually occurs during the later years of an apprenticeship, but in this case, old habits die hard.

"How much will it be?" was the stoic reply by an even more stoic person. The merchant dismissed his question with a short gesture with his hand.

"Don't mention it." He replied. The boy's face now touched with complication, the man elaborated. "For the bow you sold me."

A nod of understanding represented Drew's comprehension. A little while ago, he had sold this man another bow. Unable to play in physical currency, the merchant agreed to the shark-like terms of credit. A dangerous way of conducting business, the merchant thought – unless the creditor was to be trusted.

"Thank you, John," genuine appreciation was expressed from customer to salesman, a rarity in a marketplace of such low expectation and ever present skepticism.

A few minutes passed without much dialogue; the involuntary intermission between conversation in which both contributors begin to search for another topic. Drew made an effort to replace the coin purse within the contents of a double strapped rucksack. As John began the usual activity of polishing the bow, the interval came to a close as a new discussion came abroad.

"How is Clarke?" he asked. The longest of discussions always begin with a general inquiry.

"He's alright; He left a few days ago, actually," Drew replied in a casual manner. John reciprocated almost immediately.

"Ah," he exaggerated with a long nod of his head. "He was talking to me about that." he raised a finger in a pointing gesture, the culprit being Andrew. "Quite a mission he's on, if you ask me."

"What?" was the expected answer. Rangers are told to be incognito regarding formal missions.

"And the fact that he's by himself on this one is almost unbelievable."

Andrew's curiosity was now at full mast. Apprehensive because John was speaking in regards to Clarke, the number of questions increased. "What do you mean? Is it dangerous?"

A look of surprise came over John's face, more or less exaggeratedly. Drew began to get the familiar notion that the man was up to strange antics, as his expressions and maneuvers became more unorthodox. But it was subtle enough so that no major action could be taken – nevertheless, something was off.

"Of course!" said the vendor, apparently offended at the question's obliviousness. "Why, haven't you heard?"

The distinguishable expression of utter confusion and worried ambiguity became present on Andrew's facial canvas. Beneath it was that same notion; where was he going with this? Another observation: John had been looking past the young man with failed subtlety. It was a trivial discovery, most likely irrelevant to Andrew's initial notion. A horizontal nod satisfied the vendor's interrogation.

"Well, where did he go?"

John smiled before looking past Andrew once more, then down at the woodwork. "Why don't you ask those two young gentlemen behind you? I'm sure they'll be able to answer you."

A quick turnaround revealed two cloaked figures, both instantly recognizable. Both were comparable in stature as they exceeded the height of average by a few inches. With one sporting a cultured beard, Andrew recognized the other as his ever-jovial uncle, while the other was the renowned Halt. It wasn't a big deal, as the young man would occasionally pass the bearded Ranger within the connecting hallways of Castle Redmont. Still a massive force to be reckoned with, Halt seemed to carry himself in a sort of 'all knowing' way. Droves of confidence, or a silent ambition, the Ranger succeeded in making Drew feel a little 'on edge'.

"How much money are you laundering out of my nephew now?" Asked the commandant without true haste, taking an incoherently protective position behind and to the side of Drew. Halt stood beside Crowley, unsurprisingly quiet.

"Keep your britches on, Ranger. This one's on me," John replied, relinquishing control of the bow as Drew retrieved it.

Multitasking, the youth turned to Crowley, a content smile touching his face as he expressed reassurance.

"It's alright Crowley," he began. "He's just polishing my bow, that's all."

John regarded the young man. "Still need that fletching jig?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes as he took the bow from Drew. The woodwork was comparable to Clarke's sizable recurve bow, nearly an identical copy of the Ranger's preferred size and shape. It's quality gave it that expensive feeling, both in a tangible and abstract way; The sandy haired commandant had to remark that the quality of the structure was well above average.

"I have one for you," said Crowley as he further examined the bow, testing the whipcord and draw weight. After diverting attention from the weapon, he turned to his nephew, a gentle smile encompassing his features.

"How have you been, lad?" was the warm question. Crowley realized that Drew's stoic nature could be temporarily broken by things enjoyable to him. Adjacent to the realization, the commandant realized that the youth's nature was comparable to Halt's character, which was ironic on its own.

"I'm alright," Drew answered, suppressing a smile. The commandant had grown fond of the young man, and likewise. He then regarded the other Ranger whom was also present.

"Hello Halt."

The bearded Ranger returned Drew's casual acknowledgment, with a nod, but remaining silent. Meanwhile, John squinted his eyes in annoyance, at Crowley. He had dealt with only a few Rangers, Crowley not being one of them. Therefore, Crowley's ambiguity in character had ruined a possible business transaction, alienating himself amongst the vendor.

"Halt, who is this man?" he asked, menacingly pointing a finger at the commandant.

Halt raised an eyebrow at the question. Furthermore, he realized that there always seemed to be a particular qualm with this vendor. Unsurprisingly, miniscule coldness was apart of the answer; It was bad enough he had even agreed to Crowley's escapade. Briefness was the key to neutralization as he answered:

"The boy's uncle."

John shot a baleful glance at the Ranger. Ultimately, he was hoping for some sort of reconciliation; in hindsight, the reconciliation was of an unknown sort. Catching Halt's implication of an unwanted conflict, he ceased the attack. He continued on, demoralized in his soiled efforts.

"Whatever."

The commandant turned to Drew, shaking his head in slight irritation as he shifted attention from John to his nephew. Returning the bow to its owner, he continued with the operation he and Halt had planned the day before. "Very nice," he began. He then addressed both Drew and Halt. "I should be hearing from Clarke soon about a raise."

While a preliminary smile came from the young man, Halt remained completely stone-faced and expressionless, unfazed by Crowley's attempt at being humorous. In fact, nothing seemed humorous at this point in time for the bearded Ranger. Looking at Crowley with hint of disapproval, the commandant carried on. Tough crowd, the sandy haired Ranger thought.

"Halt and I were going to grab a bite to eat, and I wanted to know if you'd care to join. Besides, I have something important to talk to you about."

Flashing a look between both Rangers, Andrew formed a hypothesis as to what the important talk would be about. Backed with ample evidence such as Halt's mere presence, Crowley's nephew was sure that it involved the Ranger Corps in some way; he commended himself on his ability to hide elation, or any form of satisfaction.

"Sure, I'll join," He answered. Moving the rucksack from his back to the ground, he fastened the strap around the now polished bow, letting a tiny grin escape as his face was parallel to the ground. From there, no one could see his true expression – at least he thought so.

"Great," Crowley chirped, glancing at Halt in a countenance that expressed a 'told you' kind of demeanor. The bearded Ranger rolled his eyes to heaven, but still remaining silent – Crowley knew that Halt's mute condition was a result of obligation being forced upon him. Sooner or later, the commandant knew from years of collaboration, the Ranger's subtle stubbornness would subside, and he would open _slightly_.

"Well then," Crowley began. "Shall we be off?"

Meanwhile, an eager customer had been awaiting John's service. The Rangers and the young man had been standing in the implied line either knowingly or unknowingly; with men this mysterious, even the most trivial of things were hard to determine. A bold move for a commoner, he had shimmied his way past the Rangers and commenced business with the vendor. He continued as if the ordeal between John and Crowley had never happened, a card well-played in his defense. In the back of his mind, however, the man was curious as to why there were two Rangers; he had never seen the blond man before.

Needless to say, the rumor-mill of Wensley would be paid a visit.


	4. A Dash of Obligation

**Warning:** The use of suggestive profanity is used in this chapter. I pre-write these, meaning I type them to be uploaded at a later date. As I was reading this, I noticed the use of a certain four letter word. (I know, how vague.) I assume it was for a dramatic and/or relatable effect - whatever the case, you have been warned.

* * *

Let's play a game

*shoves maniacally sharp object out of view*

I have the next six or so chapters finished to be uploaded in weekly intervals. But, if I can receive 20 reviews total for this work, I'll upload daily, hourly; whatever you want.

-commodore

* * *

Chapter Four:

A Dash of Obligation

* * *

The plan had turned out easier than anticipated. Lunch was served at Jenny's restaurant, and the food went miles in easing prerequisite tensions upon spending time with a theoretical stranger. As the time passed with a seemingly increasing pace, Drew had found it easier to break the firewall of reservation all-too common when one is placed around Rangers. Catalyzed by Crowley's ever-pressing efforts, Halt contributed to the triple-headed conversation, usually bringing forth disagreement and beratement regarding the commandant's claims. But nevertheless, contributions were contributions, and when dealing with a Ranger such as Halt, Crowley had concluded that beggars could _never_ be choosers – cliché sayings have to contain some level of truancy.

The idea of possible enlistment never touched the surface of conversation that afternoon. Both Rangers had agreed, unorthodox on all levels, that the spoken word from Drew would be the key to his practical enlistment. Coincidentally, but with room for conspiracy, the commandant had left halfway through the luncheon, leaving a teenager with a legend. But as Halt and Drew were doomed for conversational awkwardness and long intermissions, the older Ranger had no problem whatsoever when speaking to the potential Ranger – there's a certain amount of deference and mutual neutrality in passing the same person multiple times within the hallways and anterooms of a castle.

Now the two were off, heading back for the inner depths of Castle Redmont. Noted for its beauty, evenings in the vast fief were truthfully spectacular. The sun had began it's daily cycle of appearing then masquerading itself, and the clear and summer sky presented itself in an orange-blue overlay. In the village of Wensley and beyond, the true night-owls: the brutes and degenerates of Redmont, were beginning to ascend, starting their ever-seeking quest for attention. Naturally, Halt led the way, with Drew following closely behind.

"Make sure the straps are fastened on your pack," the Hibernian began, his eyes remaining ahead."You wouldn't want anything to come up missing."

Checking the buckles and buttons of his rucksack, Drew was sure that his belongings were secure, including the expensive recurve bow. He plundered on, following the Ranger. In doing so, a question arose.

"Have you ever had to deal with any of these people?"

A hint of humor presented itself as a snort as Halt answered.

"All the time."

The two moved on, heading north of their initial position. With Halt leading the way, Drew found himself maneuvering through alleys and shortcuts that went unnoticed to him before. In a sense, they had been apart of the background itself; the nooks and crannies of the town that were to be stayed out of. As sketchy as they appeared, from the baleful looks to the huddles of men to be broken by a Ranger's presence, Drew felt confident in Halt's sense of navigation. And Halt's intuition is always a source to be relied on.

But nevertheless, a preface would be emitted by Halt when in places of potential danger or areas occupied by a nightly event. Upon turning onto a main street, the sight of large huddle of people mixed with the sound of raised voices were the leading symptoms of a very common display of masculinity to be held later on. The the density of the street grew, Halt protectively – no, _obligatorily_, regarded his accomplice, slowing his pace of walk.

"Stay close," was the gruff command. Drew nodded in compliance.

They pressed on, bypassing the uprising. Along the way, angry and antagonizing looks were passed from the civilians to Halt and Drew. Aware but unsurprised, the teenager found himself a foot or so closer to the bearded Ranger, wariness quickening his pace. As they found themselves back to the quiet, dimly lit avenues of the mainland, a sudden inquiry rose.

"What was that?" Drew asked, peering over at the Ranger. For the most part, conversation had seemed rare.

Halt raised an eyebrow while returning Drew's wary regard. "What?"

Points went to the Ranger for his calmness and collection, Drew thought. He gestured to the general area behind him; the space covered within the last few minutes. "They looked like they were getting ready to fight. What for?"

Shrugging of the shoulders indicated uncertainty from the Ranger, or so it seemed to Drew. In reality, Halt had no clue, but also held no worry for it. In other words, the Ranger didn't seem to care.

"No idea," he said artlessly. "Might've been for bragging rights."

Following a short hum of thought, Drew answered with self analysis. "Seems _quaint."_

"Quaint?"

"Yeah; Doesn't it seem like a moot point to you?"

Insight and opinion was present in the Ranger's answer. "No. It seems idiotic."

The short conversation neutralized in a bold manner, the two carried on as anticipated. By now, the orange haze was being replaced by the depths of night, and Drew had began to make an occasional habit out of yawning every few minutes. Halt had to note that there were no unhealthy amount of questions coming from the youth behind him, something that had became normal for the Ranger even as his former apprentice progressed from an apprentice to a graduate Ranger. At random intervals, he would find himself casually peeking over at Drew, only to be greeted by a face uninhabited by apprehensive thought.

But after a while, Drew himself noticed a peculiar trend in the amount of citizens seen, particularly a few of those inhabitants. At first, the sight of men following behind he and Halt was welcomed by a nonchalant dismissal – everyone has their destinations. However, as the time increased, hinted by the darkening of tint in the night sky, the young man noticed after a steady amount of look-backs that these men were still following, their image being reduced to silhouettes as a result of the decreasing visibility. Again, he found himself closer to the Ranger. A twinge of worry in his voice, he addressed the observation in a decently composed voice.

"Halt," he began. The Ranger cut him off.

"I know." He added with the slightest hint of urgency, distinguishable via the increasing boldness in his reiteration; the type of boldness that signaled for a command to be followed immediately: "Stay close."

By now Halt's pace had increased, but he remained calm – needless to say, an idea had formed between his ears. In accordance to the Ranger's increasing speed, Drew found himself breaking into a half-trot. The castle was in view, but it was scaled down threefold due to their exceeding distance. Albeit with a little skepticism, he continued to confide in Halt – what the hell was he thinking?

The teenager looked over his shoulder once more, this time to a very alarming discovery: The three men were now about five meters away, in what looked like a three-quarter run. Wariness and fright now in his words, he barely whispered as he spoke.

"Halt!"

The Ranger retaliated immediately. Now into a steady canter, he made a sharp left turn, heading for the dense and pitch-black forestry. Somewhere in that forest, Drew knew, lay a cabin inhabited by another Ranger. Likewise, if there was one thing a Ranger knew, it would be how to navigate a forest without being seen or heard.

The area left of the mainland was flat farmland, perfect for singling out silhouettes in the distance. Also, Halt and Drew currently had the advantage as they were closer to the forest; whoever their pursuer was could easily become diverted and lost in the tough and plant-dense area. Plus, the sound of unconcealed footsteps would be sure to attract Will's attention. If not Will, then the horses that reside in the stable not too far from the cabin.

As for the teenager, he caught on to the Ranger's plan almost instantly. They were covering ground relatively quickly, and the forest was now about ten meters away. He knew that quiet movement would be the next facet of this pursuit, so he reassured the Ranger, who had been heading for the cleared trail.

"I know how to move through a forest." He said, now cantering abreast to the Ranger. Halt looked over and nodded a tiny reverence due to the kid's convenience. Slightly veering back left, they later reached the forest; Halt's playground. From here, the Ranger knew that losing the pursuer would be child's play.

The bearded Ranger had to admit: Drew wasn't bad at maneuvering his way through dark and tough forestry. The amount of ground covered was moving like clockwork, much to Halt's surprise. Through broken logs to tree branches, the teenager moved with a seeming ease. The talent seemed refined, like the intermediates had been explained before – maybe the commandant was right about the kid being the equivalent of a third-year apprentice. If so, Halt concluded, he owed Clarke a silent thanking.

A wise move, Halt had let the boy take the lead through the forest. As Drew roamed about the area with crisp and smooth movements, a guiding hand had been placed on the back of his rucksack, occasionally shifting pressure to one side in navigation. With Halt being the navigator, they were both moving at Drew's speed, something very reassuring to the young man. He knew that at any moment, the Ranger could slip away and become virtually impossible to see, courtesy of the mottled cloak. It wasn't Halt's fault – blame the untrained eye.

A quick pull on the backpack followed by Halt's soft "Stop," was the next command. Drew ceased his efforts, then kneeled to the ground, modeling after the older Ranger. In the little to no lighting that there was, there was no need for a cowl. In turn, Drew could make out Halt's facial features, but only in a silhouette-formation. The man appeared to be looking in the direction of voices. Following suit, they eavesdropped.

"See him?"

"Nah. That damned cloak won't help either." was the reply from the second voice. "What about the kid?"

The first voice, the superior of the two, spoke cockily. "We _need_ to find him too. Probably scared him out of his wits though. Poor bastard."

The third voice, resembling a pipsqueak of a man, now spoke. "Are we going to go look?"

"To hell with that – He wants us to go in there. They don't pay me enough to do this shit."

The other two agreed in a general chorus.

"Damn, we had both of them. I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone."

"Whatever; let's go."

Three pairs of legs plodded along the dirt until they were barely audible. Kneeling on both knees rather than the silhouette's one-knee stance, Drew looked up at the Ranger, whose eyes were still locked on that same positioning.

"What the hell was that?" He whispered; feeling the anger that follows a dangerous situation as apart of hindsight. Halt snapped his look, casting it downward at the kid. He raised an eyebrow, albeit unseen in the night hours.

"None of your business – and watch your tongue, _boy_"

The irritation had increased. This time it was the kid who narrowed his eyes. "You heard the man." he began. "I think this is my business too."

The Ranger now rose to his feet. As an unrelated minor, Halt couldn't take disciplinary action – yet. But it was no surprise that Drew's newly found impulsiveness got on his nerves. As irritating as it seemed, Halt couldn't fault the kid. He was out and about within a cold forest, well after the first inclination of night, running from an unknown enemy. And worse, their initial target was Halt himself. Still, ground rules had to be established – Halt's wrath goes breakless.

"No, if I'm not mistaken, this is _my _business," he hissed, rising from his kneeled position. "And if you plan on being safe, you'd best do without the tongue and do what I say. Got it?"

Halt had put it on a bit harsher than he intended, but nevertheless, the point was across. Drew raised his hands in a submissive gesture. He signed exasperatingly.

"Okay," was the one word reply.

"Good. Let's go."

More time passed consisting of plundering through the forest. Halt now led the way, and Drew remained behind, using sound to keep close to the Ranger. Whatever cabin that lay in this maze was truly hidden, he thought. Also consuming his thoughts was the argument that had occurred a long ten minutes prior. He didn't mean what he said; blind fury is dangerous even at its most condensed state. Something seemed off – could the Ranger show just a small sense of urgency?

A forced exhale came from behind the Ranger. Nights in Redmont could be deceptively cold, especially at this time of year.

"Cold?" the cloaked figure asked.

"I'll be fine."

Along the way, short, dull conversation was made between the Ranger and the youth. Likewise, Halt was consumed with thought. But, a protective instinct caused him to check the status of his accomplice through cheap and petty talk. No – it wasn't instinctive, he concluded. Obligation – pure obligation was his motive.

"Who taught you how to do that?" was his inquiry, spoken aloud in regards to Drew's ability to move through such dense plant-life with intermediate silence.

The teenager trudged behind tiredly. "Clarke taught me when he was here." He added: "He taught me how to shoot when I was younger."

Not knowing the adequacy of his answer at first, Drew's claim was returned by a ponder-ridden hum from the Ranger. Out of pure regret and remorse, his apology came five abrupt minutes later.

"Sorry about what happened earlier."

Halt sensed the guilt and lament behind his words. The kid was sorry for his brash act, and the Ranger believed him – the whole ordeal was a surprise, actually. As all-knowing as the Ranger seemed, Drew's instant impetuousness was truly unprecedented.

The Ranger slowed and turned to meet Drew's unclear gaze. "You're alright." He began. The cloak of the Ranger worked, to say the least. But the audibility of the gruff voice was close, so the young man used his ears to see. Likewise, his eyes would hear any man made audio.

"People like that will feed on fear and uncertainty," the Ranger said, an unplanned lesson in ethics. "It's important to keep calm."

"Why are they looking for you?" Apparently twenty-questions is a game best played at dark. But the interrogation was quieter, hinting at self-thought being thought aloud. The Ranger motioned to behind the kid, returning to the previous method of 'lead the leader'.

"Let's go."

The two reached a clearing, after what seemed like an hour to one of them, that presented a quite cozy looking cottage. The sound of snapping branches and thick leaves was now replaced by the light, crisp crunch upon stepping on tamed grass A light was on within the structure, and the smell of firewood permeated the air. Breaking the monotony of footsteps and physical exertion, two barrel chested horses nickered quietly in greeting, their eyes on the newcomer.

Halt slowed to an eased walk; safety had been reached. The younger being reached the Ranger's positioning soon after, a look of general exhaustion touching the features of his face. While the Ranger's reaction was normal in his essence, Drew came to realize that Halt had overreacted by just a slim margin. There was beratement in his words, surely – there was also an underlying warning, a warning so subtle enough to rendered obsolete in a stranger's intuition. What just happened between he and Halt must have occurred before, a notion that sat haphazardly within the young archer. The cabin was only about twenty feet from where Halt was standing. But the halted progression and locked expression caused an 'on edge' feeling to rise in Drew.

Halt's next words were the most alarming thing Drew had seen or heard that night. Such a claim was spoken in a collected but wary grumble.

"They weren't looking for me."

The younger entity's face began to fix itself into an apprehensive frown. He leaned closer, almost incoherently. What a night it's been.

"They're looking for_ us_"

* * *

If you're wondering why Halt may seem a little uncharacteristic, you're on the right track :)


	5. Relativity

Chapter Five

Relativity

* * *

The barely audible conversation between two men is what he awoke to, the dreaded feeling of indubitable awakening accelerated by the lack of action from the fireplace used the previous night. The dialogue being held resembled more of a bicker, with quietly sharp interruptions sounding like hisses as disagreement surged. Contrastingly, the cottage was permeated by a warming aroma courtesy of the crushing of a particular bean, but merely accommodating the smell of cooked eggs and bacon. The smell was tantalizing, to say the least.

The period of awakening is mistakenly synonymic with the feeling of rejuvenation and purity, most likely the result of years of brainwashing optimism bashed into one's head so hard it forms an imprint of uncertainty, but compliance, nevertheless. Truthfully, the half-sleep state isn't so much painful, but rather an uncomfortable feeling of prejudged anticipation for the day ahead. And when spending the night with two Rangers, staring at the barren fireplace in such a state had never seemed more interesting. Drew took a deep breath, letting his shoulders rise and fall in remembrance of the graceful sleeping position he was once in: laying on one side of his body. He rose, a slight grimace of unfamiliarity countered by the acknowledging of safety.

A couple things were different, though. For one, the rucksack used as a headrest had been replaced by a pillow sometime during the night. Secondly, a blanket had been placed on him as well, an observation that came with the revelation that he had fallen asleep without one. He yawned a silent thanks to whoever donated such nighty items. Trivial by the day, whereas emotionally attaching by nightfall.

It was a younger voice that greeted him. "Morning."

Up and about by this time, Drew had made out the cozy interior of the cottage the night before. He recognized the uncloaked figure as Will Treaty, and had made quaint and small conversation with the Ranger that same night. He rose to his feet, tired hands finding their way to gummy eyes before he reciprocated.

"Morning"

The Ranger rose from his seat. He motioned over to where a single plate lay untouched, covered by a cloth in efforts to preserve heat. Uncovering it revealed a platter of scrambled eggs and bacon, which he brought with him to the table.

"Halt made this for you," said the Ranger. He added with a slightly serious tone: "He told me about last night."

"They were looking for the both of us, he said," Drew contributed in the midst of a yawn, finding a seat at the table. Breakfast looked great. He expressed gratitude through a quick "Thanks."

Will nodded. "That's right." Seeing a subtle scan of the room from the young man, he continued. "He's out, making sure everything's alright."

Drew quietly set the fork down, swallowing the fork-full of eggs as he did so. What was 'everything'?

"Sir – I mean, Will," The use of the Ranger's first name had been granted to the kid the previous night. "Who were those people?"

Will sensed the tension that cosigned with the teen's subtly wary expression. After deciphering his mentor's seemingly limited expressions and facial gestures, the Ranger could now read others' emotions with ease. In times like this, it was best to put it as it was. Besides, from what others had told the Ranger, the kid wasn't exactly 'feint at the heart'.

A small sigh escaped Will's chagrin as he answered. "They were hired. By who: I have the slightest idea."

The answer presented, the young man was now fully awake, and a bit surprised by the Ranger's answer. Of course, he had heard the men conversing while hidden within the forest's nightly darkness; it was something about 'killing two birds with one stone'. But ultimately, as any other commoner would, he hoped that he had been overreacting, and that it was nothing other than petty thieves and degenerates. Furthermore, whether the word 'killing' was meant to be taken literally was also a mystery; not a soul in the world is comfortable with unfamiliarity and obliviousness.

The temporary pause in conversation allowed Will to pursue the impending conflict on his own. He incoherently cocked his head a few degrees to the side and narrowed his eyes in interrogation. He regarded the young archer, the kid's shortened and average brown hair matching green eyes.

"Drew, if you don't mind me asking: Has your father been acting strange as of recent?"

The young man narrowed his eyes at Will's inquiry. "What do you mean?"

"Strange, as in something being noticeably off," Will explained. "It's a weird question, I know. But I need to know."

A simple pondering of recent interactions with his father produced electrifyingly quick results. One by one, Drew was able to recall countless instances where his Sir George has dismissed him from his offices. A characteristic of all the times in which it had happened: The knight's face seemed flushed with anguish.

"Actually, he has," came the answer. Will raised an eyebrow, an expression he mirrored from Halt. Drew saw the non-verbal expression which signaled for him to carry on.

"I don't know, he's become more _distant_"

"Distant? How so?"

The teen sighed – it was a sore topic. "It seems like he's always trying to get rid of me in some way. I used to think that it was because I want to become a -" The words almost flew right from his mouth. Drew froze, horrified at the close call. But the damage was done.

"A what?" Will asked. Behind the look of mock surprise and anticipation was the notion was all-knowing; Halt's sudden interest in an adolescent archer had to be the result of said adolescent's interest in the Corps himself, he knew.

It was over, Drew thought. A scarce smile came across his face as he cast his eyes downward, eyeing his plate.

"A Ranger," he murmured. Will smiled, a little sheepishly in his hindsight. Time to lighten the mood, he thought.

"A what?! I couldn't hear you?"

The same small grin established itself across Drew's facial features. "Will," he said exasperatingly, accompanied by the horizontal movement of his head.

"I'm serious!" Will reassured. He wasn't – he turned head sideways, pressing the side of his hand against the space near his ear, a signal of failed verbal communication."I couldn't hear you."

"A Ranger!," The claim came out louder than expected. Emitting a small chuckle, he reiterated.

"I want to become a Ranger."

"That's more like it," retaliated Will while sitting back in his seat, allowing himself to slump just a tad. Allowing the sudden rising action to resolve, the Ranger let Drew conquer the contents of his plate, much to the young man's enjoyment.

"I don't know how to tell him," was Drew's next claim, resuming the conversation. Since finishing the meal, he had assumed the same slumped position, one all to common after a meal – food comas were the real deal.

The Ranger now sat forward in his seat, a large portion of the humor in his voice left behind as he answered.

"He already knows."

A quick rapping of the door came from outside. Before Will could answer, the entrance was pushed open rather hurriedly – Halt rushed in, his movements quickened by some internal force.

"Halt," Will began. "Is everything alright?"

The bearded Ranger shut the door, locking it behind him. "Will, we need to talk." He addressed the young man. The sense of urgency was a little frightening to the kid. "Go in the other room – shut the door behind you."

Without hassle or defiance, but with a measurable degree of puzzlement and fright, Drew rose from his seat rather quickly, and headed for the room dedicated to an apprentice. "Yeah." he said, before heading to his destination.

Halt replaced Drew in the chair, bringing forth a look of disappointment. Will shook his head once more, the look of disbelief encompassing his face. Halt didn't have to confirm it; he knew from the older Ranger's sheer body language. Nevertheless, Halt confirmation came as ominous, even cryptic.

"They're back."

* * *

What was it about the events of the last couple of days that left Drew completely awestruck? The days passed with blinding speed, but were by no means enjoyable – _completely _enjoyable, for the matter. The good and bad seemed to intertwine together in a helix, the two ever conflicting sides seemingly countering each other with increasing intensity, metastasizing into the youth feeling a peripheral, third-person like relevance to himself and relativity.

The room itself was quite small, a trend of the cottage itself. However, even though the room's extent of use could be told based on the boxes of paper and seemingly washed up antiques, the area was kept neat and tidy. An ample bed was placed alongside a wall, parallel to the shutter on the other. There was a jug and basin, presumably for the washing of clothes, that was dry and color-faded through extended use. A focal point within the living quarters, a vase of brightly colored flowers sat atop the window sill, the bright petunias counteracting the boldness of a rose, allowing the bouquet to contain a simple and eye-catching offset.

It had been at least half an hour since Drew had been ordered to the room. Whatever Halt and Will had been talking about now sounded settled and successfully resolved, or temporarily compromised, at least. The gruffness of the senior Ranger rang as stern, but with delicate emotion whereas Will's youthful voice embodied a plead of some sort, dashed with exasperation – the realization that his efforts wouldn't change the mind of his mentor.

The teenager fell onto the bed, shuddering slightly in apprehension. The conversation had been going on for a while now, and the young man began to ponder whether he should leave the room. Then, realizing the apparent urgency and the rises and falls of the talk outside, he dismissed the idea, slumping lower and adding more weight to the bed's headrest. Personal analysis seemed futile – the last forty-eight hours of unexpected precedence left him mind-boggled. No leads lead to no conclusion; no closure that everything was returning to normalcy.

Normalcy.

The word irritated him. It was a word of opinion, the type of word used in arguments to discredit one for his or her externally perceived actions. Whether the action was immoral, illegal, or just plainly stupid, was up to the beholder. It implied that the actions of a single minority were against 'better judgment', and resulted in less than welcoming feelings of embarrassment, anger, and disappointment – but to the beholder, not the doer.

But if every breathing soul had morals and an inner code of conduct, which they did despite many occasions that leaned to the 'otherwise' category, then there was no such thing as better judgment, as judgement was bias in this case. In turn, normalcy never existed.

The boy smirked. So much for futile self-thought.

The sound of footsteps toward Drew's location prompted him to sit up from his slouched position. As the door opened, the young archer could make out Halt's salt-and-pepper features. Countless rumors had presented themselves throughout Drew's childhood regarding Halt's size – some said he was twice the size of an average man, whereas the opponent saw the grizzled Ranger as short. As absurd as it may sound, Halt was, in fact, not the height of two men. But Drew noticed that Halt was by no means a short man either, exceeding the youthful figure by a few inches.

The Ranger sat at the table, moving the washboard and basin to a corner of it. He sat resting his elbows and forearms of both arms onto each according thigh, rubbing his hands together in a thoughtful manner. The silence shouted.

"Is everything alright?" the younger figure asked. The bearded Ranger gazed at him with steadily and unwaveringly, dark as night. Drew began to wonder if he had done something wrong, but was oblivious to the amount of worry in the Ranger eyes. He spoke.

"Andrew," He began. There was no use in sugar coating with this one. And with a person like Drew, sugar coating wasn't exactly necessary.

"Your father has done some bad acts in the past, some of which endanger _your_ current safety."

Drew's answer exuded bewilderment. "What did he do?"

The Ranger shifted forward in his seat, most likely for comfort reasons. Rather than laying it all on the table, he delivered the news with a specific vagueness that hinted at serious conflict. "Your father failed to follow through on a commitment to extremely dangerous people."

He paused, then carried on. "As a result, those people are trying to ruin him, but indirectly."

Red flags waved viciously within Drew's intuition. But, putting the pieces together, he was able to form a basic idea of where the bearded Ranger was going.

"So," began the young man. The next question consisted of surprise and disbelief. "They want to kill me?"

A slow nod came about Halt's head. He spoke with subtly apologetic eyes, his voice still gruff and unscathed, albeit deeper and radiating wariness.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say 'kill' just yet," said Halt. "But we do need to get out of here; I'd rather not wait and find out."

The teenager narrowed his eyes in wonder. "Whoever is looking for me, is looking for you too?"

"Well, they are," Halt started. "But for a different reason."

Drew sighed, spirits shattered by this confirmation. What on Earth had his father done to jeopardize the life of his family? The emotions followed one after another – a barrage of utter dejection. He would have to leave everything behind for its safety, and travel with a virtual stranger. Mind you, the archer was on seemingly good terms with the bearded legend. But the whole ordeal seemed to spawn out of the very air that he breathed.

His face being physical evidence of such dejection, he looked into the Ranger's eyes, and for a moment, recalled a looked of compassion and empathy. Then it was gone, seemingly lost in the pitch-black depths of the iris.

"When are we leaving?" Drew's voice was ruined with sadness, though remaining steady.

"We'll leave later tonight." was the Ranger's answer, spawning the intermission of conversation.

Halt had to remark that the whole talk had went better than he had expected. Of course, anyone who had recently been told that a death warrant had their name on it would show emotion. But the amount of emotion was less than the bearded Ranger had expected. In turn, the kid's face showed no signs of an emotional uprising, although rosy cheeks and an uncharacteristic expression of paranoia sufficed inner qualm. In a way, this, as well as a few facets in appearance, he reminded Halt of himself.

The Ranger rose from his seat. "I'm heading to the castle to gather a few things, try and rel-"

"Can I go with you?"

The question rang out unexpectedly. Halt fingered his beard, black and steel flecks pricking against his skin. Drew's potential danger was rather high – hired thugs cans blend in with the usual tavern-life of Redmont. A fact he would never admit aloud: Halt cared for this Drew's well being, for a reason unknown to him. Although it may have been to do his wife and Will's warm fondness of the kid, The grizzled Ranger was convinced that he was going soft in his increasing age.

But Halt knew that the young archer's request went further than to pack supplies for the impromptu trip. It would serve as the last visit to the castle for an indefinite while, the grounds in which goodbyes and farewells would be exchanged. He shrugged.

The kid was being put through hell. The least Halt could do was give him water.

Drew eyed the figure closely. The same hint of compassion in Halt presented itself once more; he was sure he was seeing things. The Ranger nodded, beckoning his head toward the door.

"Sure; Come on."

* * *

Looks like we finally have some conflict. What you think'll happen?

Because I know what happens.

On a serious note, what do you guys think so far?

Review! ^_^


	6. A Town Called Coma

**Profanity inbound!**

I checked forums regarding the ratings, and unofficial rule regarding profanity within a 'T' rated fic was that it's only allowed once per chapter, used in a necessary environment.

**Short Note**

I apologize for the misleading summary at first. Just to reiterate, Drew is a deuteragonist, meaning that he plays a substantial role in the protagonist's decisions, but isn't the focal point in this story. I have changed the title and summary accordingly. As compensation: a 3k+ word chapter ^_^

Furthermore, I'm most likely going to create a community for the underrated fanfics of this archive; the 'diamonds in the rough' that aren't quite as popular within this fandom. If anyone is interested in becoming staff, send me a PM

* * *

Chapter Six

A Town Called Coma

* * *

**SUMMER**

"So Halt," the enigmatic warrior began. He anticipated automatic beratement, but he carried on nevertheless. "What's the plan again?"

Halt closed his eyes in disbelief. He was quite fond of the young warrior, but often times he would get the notion that information seemed to travel into one ear, and exit the other, for this would be the third time he briefed the group.

"For the third and final time," Halt addressed the entire group, twisting halfway in his saddle. Unwanted deja-vu spawned, and Ranger sighed exasperatingly, proceeding in a sarcastically intuitional tone. "We see who or what caused the The Outsiders this time, then we proceed to deal with them – _again."_

He interrogated in peculiar tone: "Got it?"

Horace shrugged innocently. "I was just asking."

Four travelers and three horses found their way back into the ever-raining, monotonous gamut of hunting down a particular group within Halt's home country. Only this time, a newcomer was brought along, unwillingly, of course. Along the way, however, the bearded Ranger realized that Drew's silence was much more preferred than Horace's seemingly tumultuous memory, as Halt's nerves were strained courtesy of the constant tests given. Occasionally, Halt would turn to his left, looking behind him, to ensure that the kid's muteness wasn't via any health concerns.

The sendoff had been quiet and covert, as the mission itself was confidential. At this point in time, both Crowley and Halt realized that a public announcement of the third reformation of The Outsiders would've caused hysteria and an air of doubt regarding official law enforcement. In turn, Halt and Will spent the remaining time with their significant others and other requested company, while Drew was informed about the 'rules of the trade' regarding survival by Crowley. Four score and five days later, the four were along the coast of Hibernia.

There was ample room on the plant-overgrown trail so that Halt, Will, and Horace could ride abreast. Being that the trip was unprecedented, to say the very least, there had been no time for the kid to receive a horse of his own, to Drew's non-appearing chagrin. Well, in hindsight, there _had _been, but the grizzled Ranger had planned on taking Drew to visit Old Bob, the infamous breeder of the specialized and barrel chested Ranger horses, without the young man's knowledge. It would've served as a fun and indirect initiation into the Ranger Corps, but the time never allotted for such events to occur, and the two had matters of more importance to attend to.

In turn, the senior Ranger and unofficial apprentice traveled on the same horse, with Halt naturally taking the reigns. As barrel-chested and strong as Abelard was, the shaggy pony found it exceedingly easy handling the extra weight.

This time it was Will who spoke, breaking the monotony that coexisted with the dreary weather. "Where do we start?"

Halt regarded Will's question. It was an inquiry that he himself had pondered over while inhabiting that blasted Skandian wolfship, knuckles vice-gripping the railing alongside his colorless face. Drew, the rookie, had to be informed of the Ranger's prerequisite condition by Will, and how it took him a substantial while to obtain his 'sea-legs' as Skandians invented.

"I figure we'll travel through the towns to familiarize to update ourselves." he replied informatively. "Then I suppose we'll head to Dun Kilty."

"Do you think there will be a lot of people in these towns?"

Halt shrugged. He wasn't the only one who noticed the lack of travelers, as Hibernia's crossroads were usually filled with traveling merchants and customers alike. Complimenting the observation, there was a general air of suspicion and weariness present, almost like a previous event hadn't quite reached the instance in which it could be considered 'over' and placed into relative hindsight.

"I'm not sure." Halt scanned his surroundings, expecting to see no one, or anything. He then added in a wary tone: "It won't be too many."

As the four made their way into a sizable town, _Glenwood_, Halt's previous notion grew stronger, seeming to radiate amongst the group. There were no guttural sounds of livestock in their habitat. The sound of trade of vacant from the area, no rises and falls in the inevitable merchant-customer argument regarding price and/or the quality of a particular item. Armchairs of every sort were uninhabited on their respective porches.

Glenwood was a ghost town.

Whether from the lack of comfort in not having a saddle, or apprehension, Drew reestablished his position on Abelard. In doing so, Halt unconsciously peered over his shoulder. Realizing his incoherent gesture, he returned his attention, and instructed the party as he the most experienced, therefore the leader.

"We'll split here," He gestured to Will and Horace. "You two see what you can find east of here. Stay quiet."

Will nodded. Like Halt, and perhaps the entire party, he had began to feel that particular 'on edge' feeling. "Right."

As the younger Ranger and warrior parted East, Halt led his beloved Ranger horse to a shed well past its prime. The structure was encumbered by lush vines and shoulder high grass, nature taking its own steps to condemn the particular landmark. Anyone brave enough to reside in a ramshackle establishment, as the entrance itself was a task to find, receives a boost in credibility.

But it would serve the purpose, as Abelard would be protected from not only the rain, but to any other dangerous opponents.

Both beings now ground-level, Halt regarded the young man; his silence was growing in oddity.

"Are you okay?" He asked, in a low and collected, borderline sentimental voice.

The kid nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered.

"Keep your bow with you. Out here, you never know what you'll find."

The wind outside slowly began to increase speed and knowledgeable presence, but gradually, like the elements itself were taunting anyone planning on maneuvering their way through outdoor grounds. As the two made their way out, the Ranger remarked that the decrease in temperature cosigned with mother nature's declining regard for human kind – the weather was not on their side.

Halt considered that last thought. In Hibernia, when was it ever?

The two proceeded, staying parallel to the row of booths and huts used for keeping inventory. Along the way, brief conversation ensued.

"You're from around these parts, right?" came the initial question, from archer to Ranger.

Halt shook his head. "From Hibernia, yes. From _here, _no."

Anticipating the inevitable caused Halt to further explain. He plainly added: "I'm from Dun Kilty," obtaining a nod of understanding from the kid.

From building to building, the two searched and ransacked each shelter's belongings for anything that might have indicated a particular reason for the vacancy. For the most part, there had been nothing other than each trade's respective inventory. Halt, in turn, naturally began to wonder as to why there were no other beings – it seemed odd that no warning was left for any stray travelers that might have passed through. Furthermore, seeing such a usually packed and prosperous trading town as empty as it was, mixed with the gloominess of the weather, added to the air of suspicion. A characteristic of every shop in the mix, everything was still in it's place, signaling an unprecedented leave.

Halt welcomed the irony with an inward smile.

"Whoa," came an enthusiastic chuckle from behind the Ranger. He had assumed the lead, Drew leisurely following behind. The two were in a blacksmith's domain, and a particular item caught the boy's eye.

Halt turned to see Drew wielding, or rather trying to wield, a broadsword that was nearly doubled in size.

"How would you even walk around with this thing?!"

The level of Drew's interest in the iron weapon was well represented by his awestruck tone. Halt sighed.

The command was not to be compromised. "Put it away."

Drew caught the man's tone. He replaced the weapon to where it was, struggling a bit, then proceeded as normal, following the leader.

As the days rolled on, the usual and completely natural feeling of dejection that had once surfaced Drew were now dwindling with increasing speed. Like most who had spent an extended period of time around Halt and his antics, the young man came to realize that while appearing cold and disinterested, the older Ranger wasn't nearly as intimidating as he was at first. From witty, sarcastic remarks to the way he simply carried himself, Drew had established the man as the figure of authority; the indubitable leader – the figure in which he confided his life in. The young man came to hold an even larger respect for Halt's all-knowing experience and near-infallibility.

Likewise, the bearded Ranger himself realized that he had left a great first impression on the kid. Occasionally, Drew sought advice from the graybeard, and Halt would reciprocate. Ask and you shall receive, unless said question is shallow, irrelevant, or plainly stupid, was Halt's philosophy.

In turn, Halt found himself in a preliminary relationship similar to that of he and Will, as over the course of nearly a month the two were beginning to decipher each other's tendencies and obtained expressions. It had taken the Ranger a relatively short time to realize that the kid himself was just as normal and ebullient as the next, contrary to the circumstances his father, a sad excuse for a man, placed him in.

Because there was no way in hell the kid deserved it.

"Hey Halt," the youth's voice ringing out a healthy distance away. To make good time, Drew had commenced searching in the booths and shops across the main road, parallel to Halt's positioning. The kid half-ran over to the Ranger, with what appeared to be a note of some sort in his hand.

Reaching his destination, he unfolded and handed the paper to Halt.

"Found a map," he said, waiting for Halt to examine the document for himself before proceeding. "There's a ranch north from here. Do you think we'll find anyone there?"

Halt eyed the contents of the map carefully. He made out the approximate distance between his positioning and Will and Horace's, concluding that both were about fifteen minutes from the second group. In relation to the homestead, Halt and Drew were quite the distance away. Still, it was worth a shot – if the ranch followed the trend of the town near it, then the party would be able to use the structure as a stopping point for the night.

"Don't see any bad in finding out," the Ranger concluded. "Let's go find Will and Horace."

Sounds of anguish and struggle from multiple people could be heard in the proximity. Instantly, Halt reached for his bow, pocketing the map, and began to creep toward the sound. There had been a few instances in which stealth had to be assumed; needless to say, Drew knew the drill.

"Behind you," he assured.

Nearing the sounds of battle, the Ranger could make out the peculiar sound of a bow, followed by the sound of the arrow shaft ceasing motion as it collided with the cobblestone roadway. A few more projectile-induced sounds of the bow, and the grunts of exertion became cries of pain. The two turned a street corner to find two men on the ground, their efforts halted by arrows stuck in their legs. Halt drew and nocked an arrow to his bow, adding a slight draw weight to the heavily resistant whipcord.

"I see you! Stop where you are!" the unknown archer sounded frantic and frightened, plagued by some sort of apprehension far beyond the stigma he was in. But he had unconsciously fired another shot when he realized that there was a second figure behind the cloaked archer. His targets were ten meters away. He missed badly, but still close to a degree, as the arrow seemingly missed the uncloaked figure a hair to the right, causing the man to flinch leftward.

As the cloaked one now ran out, arrow drawn, the man spoke once more. "Drop you're bow – both of you!"

Now a female voice shouted: "Braden, wait!"

Halt noticed the second character, now beside the first. He knew that no shot would be fired, as the man's female accomplice verbally prevented him from doing so. Still, Braden kept his arrow drawn. The Ranger took advantage of the standstill.

"Put your bow down," was the soft command. Drew eyed Halt, a mixture of anger and surprise encompassing him.

"Are you crazy? He tried to-"

"Put your bow down," Halt now reiterated, emphasizing the command by speaking in a thicker, slowed and stern voice.

Reluctantly, the younger archer followed command, slowly crouching as he released control of his bow as Halt held his won. In coming back up, he realized that the arrow fired at him had grazed his right arm, creating a bloody scene. Alarmed and frightened by the sight, incoherent vulgarity escaped his lips as he clutched the wound.

"Oh, shit!" he hissed.

Halt held his arrow steadily as the Braden character held his. Then, hearing the kid's dirty mouth, his head snapped to his right, where he saw the kneeled figure grabbing one arm with his other as he rummaged through his rucksack, dark splotches staining the cobblestone. He quickly strafed over, eyes still locked on the two figures some ten meters away. Then reaching his accomplice, he kneeled down beside him, snatching the pack into his own grasp. He raised a hand in submission before casting his eyes to the injured figure before him.

"Halt, I'm fine," Drew reassured, reaching into a sub-compartment on the front of his rucksack. Halt shook his head.

"No, you're not." he corrected. "Let me see."

"Halt, they're still-"

The Ranger snapped a gaze toward Drew, urgent and dark eyes matching a sharp hiss.

"Let me see!"

Braden now had the advantage, as both men were now unarmed. Now he and his female accomplice neared the other two – an advantage-induced cockiness and brutality consumed his voice as he spoke.

"Hands up," he commanded. Halt raised and turned his head from Drew's wound to the pursuer, and spoke with subtle irritation, though calm.

"He's hurt," Halt replied. But the man was head-first into his own arrogance.

"I said hands up!" He motioned to the rucksack, then to an area to the right of Halt and Drew, he further commanded his captives.

"Put the bag over there."

Rage surged in the wounded archer. He fired back, almost immediately: "Piss off – you couldn't hit the side of a barn with that ugly shot!

Tensions flared as Braden challenged, moving closer to the two. "Willing to bet on that?!"

Both the female and Halt now interrupted the verbal brawl, putting an end to physical altercation that had ensued moments prior.

"Braden, you shot a kid!" was the angry claim from Braden's accomplice. A look of surprise crossed over the commoner's expressions as he lowered the bow, replacing the arrow into his quiver. As the woman settled her ordeal, Halt used a free hand to grab the young man's shoulder rebukingly.

"I need you to shut up," he said, voice maddened with irritation. Drew digressed while shaking his head in intense frustration. The wound now bandaged to suppress the bleeding, Halt now rose and faced the two.

It was the man, Braden, who broke the intermission in which both groups stared menacingly at each other. The Ranger remarked now that the two were closer, that the man was thicker in build, and not in a muscular fashion. He appeared ravaged and sleep-deprived, as unkempt black hair coexisted with insecure facial features; the man had an apparent difficulty meeting Halt's unwavering stare, which was the reason his attention was so heavily shifted to the kid.

"Who are you?" Braden asked, staring daggers at Drew. The young archer snorted as he narrowed his eyes. He had risen from his crouch as well, and now stood beside the Ranger.

"Who are _you_?" Halt continued to glare at the man as Braden himself avoided such antagonism. Drew shook his head.

"He's talking to you, airhead," he retorted.

Braden proceeded toward the kid. "Listen to me, you little-"

An iron grip was placed on the man's shirt, halting the Hibernian dead in his tracks. Instantly and unwillingly, he met the Ranger's cold, pitiless eyes, and saw no remorse or sympathy in them. He spoke in a collected pitch, though laced with suppressed capability.

"You touch him, you die."

The woman pleaded, as she saw no point in prolonged arguing. "Can't we all just simmer down?"

"Not another word," Halt said commandingly as he shifted attention to Drew. He was fed up with the kid's impulsiveness – he was just like his damned uncle. He reiterated, fragmenting the statement for emphasis. "If I hear so much as a sneeze."

The woman, average in height and weight, and appearing in her mid thirties, was the diplomat in charge of downsizing the soaring tensions. "I deeply apologize," she said, meaning every last word. In an area like this, it was morally reassuring to find a group of travelers, nonetheless what appeared to be man and his kin. Therefore, she didn't want to alienate herself amongst said travelers, as their common objective could result in a temporary and well appreciated alliance.

She further explained. "I thought you were one of _them._ Then I saw him." She gestured to Drew, who stood beside Halt in commanded silence. The Braden character stood by as well.

"I assume he's you're son?"

Halt nodded. Drew flashed a quick look at the Ranger. Then realizing that Halt's explanation of their situation wouldn't have been wise, he commended the gesture. His tone now lowered to normalcy, the Ranger spoke. "We're traveling with two more," he explained. "Just passing by."

"We have a hideout not too far from here – back by the entrance. It'd be safer if we spoke there."

The temporary rest was well needed. Halt's party had been traveling since sun up, as they were far from the castle of Dun Kilty. Drew's irritation and impulsiveness hinted at major exhaustion, as well as Will's mellowed and sedated spirits. Another plus: Abelard remained in the shack, by the town's main entrance; the spot where Will and Horace would meet the Ranger.

"Take us there," said Halt.

"There's traps all around this place." Braden began. "You'd best stay right on my tail."

The conflict neutralized, the four now departed for their intended destination. As they did so, Drew found it high time to take one last shot at the man, although quieter.

"Can't miss it," he said casually, successfully earning Halt's death-stare, perhaps for the hundredth time that day.

* * *

To hell with reviews. Checking my story stats, I have/ have had readers in a boatload of countries, ranging from Guam to Vietnam. I don't know about anyone else, but if at least one of the 150 readers that visited my story genuinely enjoyed it, then I accomplished my goal. ^_^

Thanks, from the depths of my ventricle.

-commodore


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